


The Oak Obstacle

by shrack



Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Mentions of Ron Stampler, Multi, Sleepy Sex, Sports Analogies From Someone Who Doesn't Understand Sports, Transgender Male Character, Yes! Henry Does Shower In This One, eventually, thats right FUCKERS, trans!Henry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrack/pseuds/shrack
Summary: Real Life AU - Darryl's been divorced from Carol for a few years now, and the Oak-Garcias present a confusing yet attractive obstacle in his day-to-day. They end up coming over for a swim, and Darryl has to confront this issue head-on. Or, head-sideways at least.TL;DR How Darryl started dating the Oak-Garcias.
Relationships: Henry Oak/Darryl Wilson/Mercedes Oak-Garcia
Comments: 15
Kudos: 141





	The Oak Obstacle

Life can throw some pretty big curveballs your way, but you always have to be fast enough to hit them out of the park.

Now, if Darryl had played baseball when his father gave him those words of wisdom, he would have understood them a lot sooner. But football doesn’t have curveballs, and in soccer you  _ could  _ technically curve the ball, so this phrase did not have a very big effect on his life. He thought about it a lot more nowadays, though.

First, because he finally watches baseball on his free time. If there’s another game, he’ll still opt for that one—he finds baseball rather boring, if he’s honest. Second, because his life has been throwing him a  _ lot  _ of curveballs lately, and he’s ninety-nine percent sure pitching multiple balls at the same time is not allowed in baseball.

Grant has gotten a lot quieter at home lately, which scares him. He handled the divorce pretty well when it happened four years ago, opted to talk to Darryl about all his insecurities instead of secretly blaming himself for everything, which Darryl was actually quite proud of. But in the past year Grant has practically stopped talking to him about anything below surface level—Fortnite, how school was going, asking if people could come over. He knows that it’s probably just because he’s thirteen and full of emotions that he doesn’t know how to handle. Darryl remembers being a little bit of a nightmare at Grant’s age, complete with unbridled rage and some broken drywall that he instantly regretted, but being on the other side of it has proved...difficult.

On a more personal level, Darryl has noticed that Carol has started coming to the soccer games, and Darnell still is on a strictly-professional speaking basis with him. Now, it’s hard not to be upset when he sees Carol cheering and talking with the other soccer moms, when she had so many years before their divorce to step up and come to the games. Five years of games that Carol decided not to go to. So now she’s there, and Darryl bites his tongue.

Grant, thankfully, does not seem interested one bit in Carol’s cheering, so that keeps Darryl calm until he can get to the gym and sweat out his anger. (Plus, he goes to the gym now!)

And then, and  _ then,  _ on an even more confusing level, there’s the dilemma that Darryl has dubbed the Oak Obstacle. 

The Obstacle went down as such.

When the season was about to start and all the parents came in to sign their kids up, a set of twins stormed in from nowhere, bouncing up and down in front of the sign up table and already talking about what numbers they want. Darnell was God knows where, and as Darryl was about to ask where their parents were, in their father jogged. He’s a handsome man, too, blonde hair falling onto his forehead from clearly chasing his kids into the recreation center. He’s a couple inches taller than Darryl and seems to be mostly leg, and honestly Darryl had never seen someone wear a fanny pack and have it look good. So, to cope with this handsome man right in front of his face, he did what he always does.

“Darryl Wilson, nice to meet you.” And he held out his hand.

"Henry Oak, hi," he said, cheerily but a little exhausted around the edges, "I'm so sorry about them, they're just excited to sign up. You're the coach I presume?"

Assistant, technically. "Yep, that's me."

"Awesome. I just have a few questions…"

Now, Darryl knew he could stomp down this weird little crush for a little while. He'd lay in his bed at night, staring at the ceiling, considering if he had always liked guys, or this was just a new, mid-life crisis-esque revelation in his life, sure. But he didn't have to take that into his day-to-day.

The real issue came a month later, when Darryl was waiting behind with Lark and Sparrow for someone to pick them up.

Grant and the twins were talking about some mobile game they all play, and Darryl was just happy to see Grant excited. He didn't mind the wait, really. Eventually, a car pulled up that Darryl recognized, and as he brought all the kids toward it to usher them off, a woman stepped out and left Darryl a little speechless.

Because one, she was gorgeous. Shorter than him, brown hair falling over her shoulders in wild but somehow completely maintained curls, an apologetic smile on her face. Two, because he was  _ not  _ prepared for Grant to already know her and say, "Hey, Mrs. Oak-Garcia. This is my dad."

She laughed, Darryl needed to remember his own name—"Nice to meet you. I'm so sorry for making you wait."

Darryl watched Lark and Sparrow barrel into the car for a second to pretend like he wasn't coming to terms with this new and strange development in his lack-of-a-love life. "It's not a problem. Darryl Wilson, pleasure's all mine."

They shook hands, and Darryl was amazed at how confident she was in herself just through her handshake. "Mercedes. Thanks again," she waved at Grant, who was already on his phone, "bye Grant!"

"See ya."

Darryl held it together until he got home. Then, after he showered, he had a long, serious conversation with himself in the mirror about the moral implications of having a crush on an entire married couple.

Now, though, he’s cleaning up the leftover dishes from breakfast that morning that he didn’t have time for earlier, the sound of Grant playing some game on his Switch filling up the comfortable silence in the house and his brain. For once, Darryl’s only concern in the world is getting the oatmeal off the sides of this bowl.

Darryl hears Grant’s phone buzz on the couch next to him, and then Grant calls, “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“D’you think the twins and their parents can come over tomorrow? Since we opened the pool and everything?”

Darryl is suddenly much more concerned about everything. He hasn’t gotten the chance to hang out with the two of them outside of the customary soccer-related events. What if they find out they hate him? Oh gosh, what is his therapist going to say if he  _ doesn’t  _ tell them about his weird feelings?

“Sure. I was planning on grilling anyway.”

No he wasn’t.

“No you weren’t.”

Looking over at Grant, he intends to shoot a glare at him, but only gets the back of his head. “How do you know, smart aleck? I absolutely was. Bought corn and everything.”

Lucky coincidence. Corn happened to be cheap while he was shopping for the week at Whole Foods.

“Okay, well, I think their parents are vegan, so you might have to go buy stuff anyway.”

Shit. Right. “I can text Henry and see what they’d like.”

“Cool. Thanks.” Darryl hums in agreement, staring through the glass bowl still in his hands. As much stress as he might be in for the next twenty-four hours, at least Grant is getting out because of it.

* * *

In his fourteen years of existence, Grant has never seen his dad nervous. Not when Grant broke his wrist during a game and his dad opted to drive him to the hospital while Grant was screaming and crying. Not even when the divorce was in process and he very easily could have lost the house and...other stuff.

But right now, his dad is muttering to himself as they walk around Whole Foods, thumbs tapping on the cart handle, very obviously sweating despite the frozen aisle being the coldest part of the store. And Grant is at a loss.

“Are you good?” he tries, for the third time now, and for a second his dad doesn’t react. He’s staring at the gluten-free rolls like they personally wronged him.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, fine. Which ones do you think we should get?”

“I dunno, the cheapest?”

Darryl scoffs. “Cheapest. Like a dollar is gonna make or break us.”

Grant looks up from his phone, dumbfounded. “That’s literally always how you shop.”

“Yeah, but...guests, y’know?”

“Since when do you care about guests thinking you’re cheap?”

His dad grumbles and picks one without looking at him, making Grant sigh and look back down at his phone to keep texting Nick about how weird he’s being.

nick:  _ maybe he’s got a cruuuush _

grant:  _ on fuckin who? the twins????? _

nick:  _ their mom is hot bro _

grant:  _ WHAT _

nick:  _ adults r weirdddd _

grant:  _ u disgust me as a person _

* * *

The Oaks are due to arrive at two, and Darryl can’t relax to save his life. He’s trying, really, staring at the football game on TV and desperately willing himself to get into it. It’s the  _ Packers _ , though, so that’s already providing a high barrier to entry. He’s bouncing his knee, and trying his hardest not to check his watch.

At 2:03 he decides he needs to toughen up a little. He needs to fucking act like an adult man, dammit, and push these feelings so far down that even Hell can’t find them. (In the back of his mind, he can  _ hear  _ his therapist’s disappointment.) Henry and Mercedes are happily married, and that’s the end of that. He knows what can happen when someone inserts themselves into a marriage, physically or emotionally, and he’s really not trying to do that to them in any way. It’s wrong to harbor feelings for them, which is why he doesn’t. He is their sons’ soccer coach. Hopefully, he can be their friend. That’s it.

At 2:10 the doorbell rings, and before Darryl can even move to get up, Grant bounds down the stairs, shouts “I got it!”, and is at the door to pull it open.

As Darryl heads to the door, the kids speed past them, one of the twins yelling “Hi Coach Wilson!” on the way. Darryl makes no attempt to guess which one it was—he already has trouble when they’re standing still.

Henry and Mercedes step into the house, Mercedes glancing around as Henry extends the tray in his hands in offering.

“Oh, you didn’t—”

“Yes we did. We felt bad springing this whole shebang on you, and frankly we would’ve brought it anyway.”

Darryl takes the tray, unsure of how to conduct himself. Does he give them a tour? Do they just go watch the kids? The latter probably seems like a safe bet.

“Please, come in,” Darryl says as he leads the way to the kitchen to set the tray down. “D’you want anything to drink? I’ve got iced tea, water, beer…”

“Beer sounds great,” Mercedes chimes in, and Darryl brightens up. Now this,  _ this _ is directly in his wheelhouse.

“I only have my beer, if that’s alright.”

Henry raises his eyebrows. “You brew your own beer?”

“It’s a hobby, really. Been doing it a couple years now, my sister actually sells hers so I figured hey, why not try it too.” Darryl rummages in the fridge to find the ones tucked in the back, passing them over the counter to the others. They inspect the logo that he was actually quite proud of—Grant had helped design it, what a talented kid.

“They’re uh, they’re twist-offs.”

Mercedes mutters a soft “Oh,” under her breath before twisting it open, and takes a sip. Darryl tries to pretend that validation from the two of them isn’t the most important thing in the world, and probably critically fails.

“It’s very good,” Henry says as he smiles at Darryl, “I know stuff like this is ridiculously hard, we had a kombucha phase last years that did  _ not  _ go well. We’re still finding glass in the house. Super impressive.”

Darryl might flush a little, but in the time it takes him to remember the English language, there’s a scream followed by a loud splash from outside.

“We should head out there before they start drowning each other.” Mercedes nods in the direction of the back door.

Henry agrees, and the two of them go for the door, leaving Darryl alone for his thoughts for a brief moment. And in that moment, the most his brain can muster is:

Shit.

* * *

Darryl talks to Mercedes, for a while, which is a nice distraction from stressing over the boys actively trying to drown each other. Henry is sitting on the edge of the pool, pleading with Sparrow to stop jumping on Lark when he's not expecting it—but Grant is laughing so hard he's doubled over, which only eggs Sparrow on more. Pun unintended.

Eventually, though, Mercedes chimes in with the parenting, spotting a particularly harsh belly flop from Lark out of the corner of her eye and getting up to make sure he's alright. Darryl watches Mercedes bend down next to the side of the pool to comfort an upset Lark (whose stomach is the same bright red that Darryl's neck gets when he forgets to put on lotion before mowing the lawn), and something inside him feels warm, content to bask in the Oak-Garcia parenting style forever. Or at least the rest of the afternoon. 

When Mercedes gets up she walks past Henry, asks him a question that Darryl can't hear, and when Henry turns his attention back to the pool, Mercedes gently shoves his head, the two of them laughing softly. Darryl's reminded of young love, of the early days of his and Carol's relationship when the negging was lighthearted and fun. He realizes, for the first time in a long time, that he wants that more than anything.

When he turns his attention back to the kids in the pool, he catches Grant watching him only briefly, face indecipherable—he doesn’t think much of it, though, because Mercedes sits back down with a sigh.

“‘s a rough one. Looked painful,” Darryl chuckles, and Mercedes rolls her eyes.

“I don’t think we’ve gone a single day without them hurting themselves somehow. They went from klutzes to...klutzes but on purpose. Even when they were little.”

“Hey, helps them get some great penalty kicks though.”

“Aren’t you supposed to encourage fair play or something?”

Darryl shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “Not if we win.”

Mercedes laughs, bright and loud, and Darryl smiles to himself, his brain actively refusing to push down the thoughts he oh-so desperately doesn’t want to think about.

“Yo, Dad!”

Darryl breathes a sigh of relief as Grant calls for him in the pool, waving a hand for him to get in. “Lark and Sparrow say that they could take us in a chicken fight and I need to prove them wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea—”

“Darryl Middle-Name Wilson, get in this pool and help me destroy them.”

As Darryl pushes himself up off the chair and sets down the beer bottle, he shakes his head. “I’ve definitely told you my middle name before.”

“What is it?”

“No, live with the mystery.”

Henry laughs from his spot on the side of the pool, and Darryl’s hands on the bottom of his shirt hesitate for a moment, suddenly incredibly,  _ unbelievably  _ self-conscious. He’s been trying his hardest at the gym, and the square dancing lessons don’t help much by way of exercise, but, y’know, these are people he wants to impress. And he wouldn’t consider his body “impressive” by any sense of the word. Grant splashes at his ankles and he yelps, and before he can think too much longer about it, he tugs his shirt off and goes down the stairs into the pool.

They end up, of course, winning against the twins, Darryl only almost drowning under Grant once (and getting laughed at by teenagers fucking  _ hurts _ ). He makes sure the twins are having fun, of course, but Grant is a force to be reckoned with, and they naturally tower over the two of them. Henry and Mercedes’ cheering for their sons never calms down, though, and Lark pulls a dirty splash move on Darryl to make him loosen his grip on Grant’s thighs and nearly make them lose.

Darryl tosses Grant off his shoulders as soon as they win, Grant screaming as he goes, which quickly devolves into a one-sided wrestling match. Grant is laughing as Darryl tucks him into a chokehold, and Darryl is reminded of his childhood, when they would watch wrestling together and Grant would desperately try to copy the moves on Darryl when he’s least expecting it. He’s caught off-guard, however, when Sparrow leaps out of nowhere and starts tugging on his arm to free Grant, and Darryl holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away. 

“I think I’m gonna call it. I should start dinner anyway.”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

“Grant! Language.”

Grant rolls his eyes, but still holds his hand out for a high five. Darryl can only be upset for so long, before he gives him five with a loud, satisfying  _ slap! _

Darryl, silently satisfied with his critically successful high five with Grant, climbs out of the pool, laughing as the kids splash at him on his way out. As he scours around for a dry towel, he spots Mercedes barely suppressing a grin, her gaze quickly shifting from Darryl over to Henry with a raised eyebrow. Darryl, quite frankly, has no idea how to unpack  _ that, _ and chalks it up to something dumb their boys are doing behind his back as he grabs a towel.

Henry finally gets up off his perch, jogging past the kids to avoid the onslaught of water and heading over to where Darryl is drying himself off. His cheeks are flushed red, Darryl notices as he gets closer. Darryl  _ knew  _ those damn canvas sun hats did absolutely nothing against the sun, and nods his head toward the house. 

"You're lookin' a little red there, buddy. There's sunscreen in the house if you need."

Henry flubbers over his words for a moment, "Oh, no, I'm ah—I've got plenty on."

It's hard to tell, but Darryl  _ swears _ that the red on his face spreads, and hearing Mercedes cover a laugh with a cough off to the side doesn't clarify anything further.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say. You’re a good dad.” Darryl splutters, looking at his feet with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, I mean, nobody’s perfect.”

“Yeah, well, parenting is freaking hard,” Henry continues, watching his boys chase each other around the shallow end of the pool, “There’s no ‘right’ way to be a dad. And you’re doing it alone. Must be tough.”

Darryl looks over at Henry, who is smiling softly at his kids, and his heart flutters happily. “It’s alright. Still feels like I’m adjusting to the single dad life sometimes.”

If he were looking at the pool, he’d see Grant watching him, the look on his face somewhere between shock and amusement. Because,  _ gross _ , Nick was right, curse the boy.

“I think you’re adjusting just fine.” Henry finally looks back at him, patting the back of his shoulder. Darryl tears his eyes away and looks back at the pool right as Grant busies himself with Sparrow in front of him.

“I hope so. I want to do right by him, y’know? He’s been through a lot already.”

Henry chuckles, “Yeah, I get that. I always hope I’m doing the right thing, but I guess there’s no way to be sure. Unless they look at you and go, ‘Hey, Dad, I feel so adequately parented thanks to you, thanks for everything.’”

Darryl scrubs a hand over his beard, willing it back into a moderately presentable shape as he thinks. “Sure as hell would make it a lot easier, though.”

“‘Easy’ and ‘parenting’ don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

Humming softly, Darryl chucks his towel over the back of a chair. He’s been trying with Grant, he really has—opening up has always been Darryl’s biggest problem in life, his father always pushing and never giving any emotional headway, his mother leaving them too early on to gain any good insight from her. Darryl can picture the pattern forming again, sometimes he can look in the mirror and  _ see  _ his father, trace the footsteps down the path he doesn’t want to be going down. Therapy has helped, of course, but what if…

“I’m gonna go start the grill. What do you kids want?”

That’ll at least take his mind off things for a while.

Or, more like half an hour, when Grant, still dripping wet, slides next to him at the grill and pretends to be interested in what he’s doing. Darryl glances at him out of the corner of his eye, waits a moment, and closes the lid. 

“Okay, what’s up? I know you’re not suddenly interested in grilling.”

Grant shifts on his feet a little, and Darryl is terrified. “What’s up with you and the Oaks?”

“I don’t understand.”

Grant groans, and rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Is everything alright?”

Darryl curses whatever God is out there. He knows, his son  _ knows _ because he was too  _ obvious _ , and now he is going to go jump in the pool and never come out. Because his son thinks he’s disgusting, and all his parenting failed, and—

“I don’t know, you get all weird around them. Like, lovey-dovey, kids-in-my-grade-who-think-they-like-someone weird.”

Grant finally makes eye contact with Darryl, who instead of commenting, decides it’s best to open the lid of the grill and check on the food he knows is doing just fine in there.

“Do you...do you want to talk about it?” Grant continues, and Darryl feels his shoulders tense before he can tell them not to.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Darryl says, trying not to wince at the sentence he’s said and heard so many times before. This isn’t something you put on your son, it’s something you confess to your therapist and bury deep until it passes or you figure it out. It’s new and scary and not something you just come out and say to your kid if you yourself haven’t figured out what it means.

Grant slumps a little and moves to walk away. “Alright, whatever.”

“Wait, Grant, wait.” Darryl sighs, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I don’t...know what’s going on. I think it’s just—it’s kind of lonely, y’know? I’m probably just projecting. It’ll pass.”

Grant nods, and gives him a thumbs up. “Good luck. Take care of yourself, quit being so weird.”

Darryl laughs softly, giving a half-hearted salute to Grant as he walks away. “Aye aye, Captain.”

For a moment, Darryl stares at the closed grill, hoping to find some answers etched in the metal there. He promises to himself that he won’t let this proceed, leave it here today and continue on his bachelor life in style. Maybe he’ll invest in a man cave—he always hated what that implied (just call it a  _ den _ ), but a pool table sounds nice. Distracting. That would keep him busy for a while.

Dinner goes mostly fine, Darryl actively ignoring Grant looking between him and the Oaks every time one of them would say something. Henry stands over his sink, cleaning the dishes off, handing them to Darryl to dry once he’s done. The domesticity is nice and comfortable, Darryl leaned against the counter, absently running the towel over a plate as he watches Henry, the man talking about something he’s passionate about that Darryl can’t quite keep up with. Henry hands him a new plate, an embarrassed look on his face when he sees Darryl already watching him.

“Oh, gosh, I was rattling on, wasn’t I. Sorry.”

“No, no, it was nice,” Darryl quickly says, still not making any move to stop looking at him. He realizes this, though, and ducks his head with a laugh, hiding the blushing creeping onto his cheeks. God, what was  _ wrong  _ with him? “Been a while since I’ve had people over.”

“Thanks for having us. Your place is lovely.”

Darryl is grateful to hear the back door slide open, and busies himself with putting away the dishes to steady his heart rate back to normal.

“Sparrow told me to ask if you took your shot today. I told him that you probably did and you’re fine, but he wouldn’t leave me alone until I asked.” Only Lark’s head is in the house, and Darryl smiles to himself as he slides a glass back into its place. He sees Henry glance at his watch out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll be okay to do it at home, sweetie.”

The door slides shut before he finishes his sentence, Sparrow shouting “I TOLD YOU SO!” as he walks away.

“Sweet kids.”

Henry sighs happily and leans back against the counter, elbows propping him up. “They might not listen to me a lot, but they care. Makes me think I’ve done right by them in some way at least.”

"I never listened to my parents. I think if kids actually listened, the world would explode."

"Knowing my boys? They might explode it either way."

Darryl finishes putting away the dry dishes, stretching one of his legs to nudge Henry's knee with his foot. "You're doing great."

Henry smiles at him. "Thanks. You are too."

“What, uh,” Darryl starts, clearing his throat, “can I ask what kind of shot it is? It’s not every day you, ah, hear people giving themselves shots, especially from their kids.”

Henry laughs, and the tension from Darryl’s shoulders drops a little. Thank God—the last thing he wants to do is somehow offend Henry by asking personal questions.

“Oh, goodness, I totally get how that could be strange. It’s just testosterone, mainly routine at this point, I’ve been on it for Heaven knows how long now. Didn’t want to freak the kids out either, to see their father stabbing himself in the thigh every night, so we had a family meeting, and I sat them down to talk about, oh you know, transitioning and all that. They seem to have gotten the gist of it. Although, once I got called into school because Sparrow told a teacher that their Daddy did drugs.”

Darryl snorts. “That must’ve made for a fun visit.”

“Try explaining  _ that _ to a principal,” Henry laughs, and the two of them lapse back into silence and routine.

As much as he wants to bask in this, the comfortable silence that Henry brings with him, something that he realizes now that he’s  _ missed— _ he wasn’t kidding when he told Grant that it’s been lonely lately—he finishes cleaning up the dishes. It’s incredibly hard to make friends as an adult, even with the soccer team meeting every week. That was for the kids, after all, not for Darryl to get chummy with the parents (although that Glenn guy definitely piqued his interest after rolling up to a practice blasting music his kid should definitely  _ not _ be listening to).

“Oh, before I forget,” he says, gesturing toward one of the cabinets, “d’you mind grabbing the marshmallows out of there? We had bought vegan ones a while ago, they’re not bad—tried them with Grant since he’s been trying to eat vegetarian for a while now. We should start the fire soon, so it can be ready when it’s dark out.”

He can feel Henry’s eyes on him, and he tries hard not to over-analyze what that could possibly mean, but he hears Henry open and close the cabinet with a soft hum. “We’ve never tried these ones. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll meet you outside.”

* * *

Around the fire, when they're all finally sitting, Henry's telling some story that is almost definitely a poorly masked true story about his supposedly-haunted dorm room. Darryl is just thankful for the break—he's been on edge all day, and even though that nagging fear is still at the back of his mind, here, now, poking at the fire and watching the embers spiral up into nothing, he finally feels calm.

Grant nudges him with his foot, gesturing at his cheek with a teasing grin. Sticky beard is the  _ last  _ thing he needs, and he groans a little when he tries to get it out. When he looks up, Mercedes is hiding a laugh behind her hand.

"What's so funny?" Henry asks, swatting one of the twins' hands away from the bag of marshmallows without looking.

Darryl gets up and jabs his thumb toward the house. "I'll be right back."

As Darryl exits the bathroom, Mercedes is in the kitchen, making herself busy with organizing some of the dishes. Darryl can tell she's not really  _ doing _ anything, and something in him is excited about that. 

"Just checking if you uh. Needed any help."

"I think I got it all."

Mercedes purses her lips and looks him over, which makes him squirm a little. "Looks pretty good to me."

Darryl laughs and rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but Mercedes. He gives a half-hearted wave toward the door.

"We should get back out there."

"Actually," she starts, and Darryl finally makes eye contact to see that she looks nervous too, "I had a question, if that's okay."

"Shoot."

"Would you like to come over for dinner sometime? Just you."

Oh God. Oh God it's happening. He doesn’t know what  _ it  _ is, but it’s happening. He sighs a laugh. "Yeah, I'd love that."

"Awesome! It's a date," she exclaims, clapping her hands together as she does. Darryl finds it absolutely adorable.

The word "date" ping pongs around his brain as he follows her back out into the backyard. Man, his therapist is gonna be  _ stoked. _

* * *

On the day that Darryl is supposed to go to the Oak-Garcia household for a dinner date, there's a soccer game.

The usual suspects are packed into the Odyssey—Grant is in the front seat, and there is a mish-mash of sons and fathers behind him. This time Terry Jr. and Nick are sharing a pair of AirPods in the back, bobbing their heads along to some song on Nick's phone. Grant is playing Fortnite with the Oak twins, which is successfully keeping the two of them from mauling Henry in the back seat, who tried to sit between them to get them to behave.

The problem is that Darryl keeps glancing in the rearview and catching Henry's eye, and it's making him increasingly more nervous. Is this a proper date? What do people wear on dates? If he dresses too nice, are they going to think he's crazy?  _ Is  _ he crazy?

Ron kicks the back of his seat and it tugs him out of his head, vaguely reacting to whatever bullshit sentence that spills from his mouth. He wonders, sometimes, what goes through that man's head. Darryl's almost envious of his lackadaisical attitude.

Glenn must sense his nerves, because while the kids all run ahead to start warming up, Glenn sticks behind to help unload the coolers from the trunk.

"What's happenin', homie?"

Darryl glances at Glenn out of the corner of his eye, and when Glenn doesn't continue with a weird request or an excuse to not pay his round of gas money, Darryl relaxes a little.

"I've uh, I have a date later. It's been a while, y'know, and I'm not really sure how to…" he waves a hand vaguely, reaching for a word that's not there, "present myself, or whatever."

"Oh, dude, just be yourself," Glenn says with minimal grunting as he drags a cooler out of the trunk. "I mean, they've gotta like you for you, right? It's worked for me."

"You getting back on the saddle?"

Darryl shuts the trunk and follows Glenn towards the field, and Glenn laughs. "Nah, I'm perfectly happy on my own. But you know, when I was thinking about dating again, I found that being myself helped. Can't help that 'myself' is fucking awesome, though."

As Glenn walks toward the sideline, Darryl watches him and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. There are things about  _ all  _ the dads that he envies, and Glenn's absolute confidence is one that he finds himself drawn to again and again. He knows exactly who he is—a single father, a Christmas music rock star—and his style makes Darryl's jeans and a t-shirt seem cheaper than they already are. In a confident stride, narrowly avoiding goose poop in his no-doubt expensive combat boots, a trenchcoat-like cardigan fluttering behind him in the wind: it's incredibly cool, calm, collected, and Darryl can't stop himself before he blurts out:

"Could you come help me pick an outfit for tonight?"

Glenn turns his head to flash him a toothy grin. Although he can't see through his (Gucci? Darryl doesn’t know logos) sunglasses, his eyes are probably twinkling excitedly. "Fuck yeah."

Which is how he ends up with Glenn Close is standing in front of his closet, staring at it like it's god damn Mount Everest and he's about to conquer it. Grant didn't seem to mind much, Nick and him rushed up to his room and slammed the door not a minute after they all walked inside. After the cleats came off, of course.

They've already tried a couple of Darryl's go-to outfits—after ten minutes of Glenn convincing Darryl to take his shirt off in front of him, that they were both men, that Glenn wouldn't judge him, oh my  _ god.  _ Darryl is sitting on the edge of his bed, a loose shirt hugged to his chest to give him some sense of decency, as Glenn ruminates over what is, on the surface, a lot of old t-shirts.

"This is pointless, Glenn, I can just wear what I was going to wear."

"No way dude! That flannel was downright  _ nasty _ . I'm sure you have something in here, man."

Darryl huffs petulantly, and Glenn glares at him. It's more discipline than Darryl has ever seen Glenn give his son. It's almost intimidating.

Somehow, by some weird miracle, Glenn finds a relatively new-looking button down from the depths of his closet. It's actually pretty nice, probably something Carol bought him when she still shopped; a pretty simple light blue, with a darker blue breast pocket. When Darryl puts it on, with a pair of dark wash jeans that he's actually relatively familiar with (Grant insisted that he buy tighter jeans once, and they're not in regular rotation, but he likes them regardless), he clears his throat to get Glenn's attention. Glenn, ever the smooth talker, whistles lowly.

"There we go, killer!"

Darryl looks at himself in the mirror, tugging feebly at the front of the shirt. "It's not too much?"

Glenn hops up and onto his tip-toes to look over Darryl's shoulder at the mirror. "Nah, man, it's great. If it makes you more comfortable, you can roll the sleeves up."

There's a half-assed knock on his door, and he turns in time to see Grant shove his way into the room. "I have a quest—oh, hey, you look nice."

"Told you," Glenn "whispers", to which Grant looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

"O...kay. Could I sleep at the Close's tonight? Since you're going to the Oaks and everything, I figured it wouldn't be too much of a problem."

Somewhere behind him, he can hear Glenn suppress a gasp, and Darryl glances at the ceiling to steel himself for what's going to happen once Grant leaves. "If it's okay with Glenn."

"Oh yeah, man, no problem. And no weed this time." Glenn puts on his best stern father voice, but Grant rolls his eyes and heads out.

"No weed. Thanks Dad!"

The door closes, and Glenn is slapping at Darryl's bicep repeatedly. " _ Dude!  _ Which one of them are you dating? There's not like, a secret older Oak that I didn't know about, right?"

"What? No.  _ What?" _

"How should I know?"

"Why would I— _ no.  _ It's uh, I guess...a date with both of them. That's how Mercedes pitched it to me, I think? This is all kinda new territory for me."

"Well then, just think about it like any old dinner. They obviously both like you if they asked you out together."

Darryl huffs in agreement, and furrows his brows as the wheels turn in his head. "Wait, how do you—"

Glenn flaps a hand at Darryl. "Went out with Mercedes once. She's a gem."

As Darryl gapes at Glenn, it simultaneously quells his nerves and makes them worse. On the one hand, he's kind of proud that  _ both  _ of them asked him out. That has to count for something, going from nobody casting him a second glance to  _ two  _ people wanting to get to know him. On the other hand, Glenn is...well,  _ Glenn.  _ There's no denying that the man is handsome, with a chill and confident personality to boot. To put it lightly, Darryl's freaking out.

A healthy pat on the shoulder shocks some sense into him. "Look, Darryl, you'll be fine. Be excited!"

"I am," Darryl says, letting out a heavy sigh as he looks at himself in the mirror again. He needs to tidy up the beard a little, definitely. "I'm very excited."

"Good. I'll take the kids in a bit, no sweat. Go get 'em, tiger."

Glenn leaves the room with another pat on the shoulder. Darryl stares at the mess of clothes on the bed, ponders whether or not he should just silently change or start cleaning up, and deems it a problem for future him. It is, after all, a good way to get out any pent up emotion he might still have after tonight. Who knew folding could be so therapeutic?

* * *

The song on the radio is saying something about parties, and it’s doing absolutely nothing to quell Darryl’s nerves. He’s currently sitting in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel of the Odyssey to the rapid beat of the song, trying to inspire the courage to step out and tackle this head-on. Sure, he hasn’t gone on a first date in more than half of his life, let alone with two people, or a married couple, or a  _ man _ —

Darryl lets out a long, loud sigh, and decides a quarterback sneak is the best plan of action. Out of the car, wine bottle under his arm, and head straight for the door despite everything trying to keep him from getting there. (Honestly, he thinks as he walks up to the front step, it’s probably not the best analogy. What is he going to do, throw the wine bottle to an offensive player? Nobody’s even trying to tackle him. He’s not even sneaking. But, it gets him out.)

Not a few moments pass after Darryl knocks on the door—he doesn’t ring doorbells—before Henry pulls open the door. Darryl glances over his shoulder to spot Mercedes at the kitchen island, watching them with a fond smile. When he looks back at Henry, his tension drops a little because...well, Henry looks almost as terrified as he feels.

“I’m so glad you came,” Henry says on a sigh, and Darryl’s heart thumps a little harder.

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I told you he wouldn’t!” Mercedes calls, and Henry steps aside to let him into the house.

Darryl’s not sure what he was expecting the inside of their home to look like, but it really doesn’t surprise him much. A decent but reasonable amount of plants decorate most of the rooms, the place is bright, open, and welcoming. Ranch style, with a lot of exposed wood and bay windows.

“Your home is gorgeous,” Darryl mentions off-hand, and offers up the wine to Henry, “I also couldn’t come empty-handed.”

Henry flips the bottle to read the label and Mercedes rolls her eyes, grabbing Darryl’s hand and guiding him toward the small breakfast nook settled in an alcove at the front of the house. 

“Thank you, it was tricky designing a house with Mr. Pushover over there.”

Henry, despite opening his mouth to argue, closes it, and opts for heading to the kitchen to open the wine bottle.

Dinner goes smoothly. Despite a clunky start, with small talk that didn’t really suit any of them, they fall quickly into conversation that flows incredibly easily. There’s a moment, while Henry is talking about a story from work, that Darryl catches Mercedes watching him. It’s the same look of adoration he recognizes from an  _ earlier _ Henry story, Mercedes laughing along with him, eyes sparkling with something so open and loving. Mercedes doesn’t seem embarrassed, just maintains eye contact with him as she takes a sip of her wine.

Only when Darryl stands up does he realize he's properly tipsy. He should have figured it out sooner, given the amount of wine he consumed as a vague attempt to settle his nerves. He must react physically, because Henry laughs and grabs his elbow, also standing up.

"Easy, tiger."

Darryl flushes a little. "It's been a while since I've properly drank."

"I'm glad we could be of service," Mercedes says, grabbing Darryl's plate.

"Oh, I can help—" Darryl starts, but Mercedes cuts him off.

"I got it, it's what the dishwasher is for. Honey, could you…?" Mercedes nods her chin toward the couch, and Henry starts guiding him over toward it.

"C'mon, we can browse Netflix while she finishes up."

They scroll through for a few silent moments, Darryl leaned back on the couch, an arm slung over the back couch cushion. Henry leans back as well, making him realize the implications of sitting like this, and when he looks over to gauge Henry’s reaction, a light blush rests high on his cheeks.

“Um, we’ve been thinking about starting this one,” Henry says, pointing at the TV with the remote, “would you be interested at all? It could be our thing, even.”

“Our thing,” Darryl echoes, mouth working around the words.  _ Our _ strikes something possessive in him, and while he doesn’t really have any major interest in the show, he nods, “sure, I could work with that.”

The wine that Mercedes brings over shifts to whiskey not much later, and before Darryl knows it, he has a drunk Henry leaning into his side as they make fun of some terrible game show on Netflix.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Mercedes shouts, “Nobody in their right mind uses emojis like this.”

“And why do they pronounce it  _ emo-genius _ . Shouldn’t it be something like, I don’t know,  _ emoji-ness,”  _ Henry adds, and Mercedes flails her hand holding the glass, nearly spilling it everywhere.

“Exactly! And not to mention these are pretty easy, we’d crush this no doubt.”

Darryl laughs softly. “To be fair, the last one would’ve stumped me a little. How are you supposed to guess ‘butt implants’ with none of the words?”

“Peach, arrow, plant. Easy. Done!”

“What’s the peach though? Why is that a butt?”

“I don’t know, the kids these days said so,” Mercedes says, and rests her free hand on Darryl’s knee.

“I mean, it’s kind of got buttcheeks,” Henry adds helpfully.

Darryl, whose mind has gone blissfully blank, just pretends he’s suddenly invested in this emoji-based game show. The people on it are insufferable, but ten thousand dollars is a pretty good deal if you just have to go on some show nobody watches and scream a little bit, if he’s being honest. He can kind of see Henry and Mercedes exchange a look out of the corner of his eye, and tries not to overthink it as the duo on the screen dabs.

“Hey, Darr?” Henry asks as he sits up, and Darryl tries to seem nonchalant as he hums an affirmative and looks over.

Henry, now sitting up and face-to-face with Darryl, is quite attractive up close. He’s sporting a gentle blush that Darryl is willing to blame on the alcohol, and he keeps nervously flitting between both of Darryl’s eyes. He casts a glance over his shoulder to Mercedes (who Darryl can only assume is giving him two thumbs up), before taking a deep breath and letting it out with a smile.

“Mercedes and I have talked about this a lot, and we wanted to let you know that we would be happy to start dating you, the two of us. We can take this as slow as you want, since I know that this would be a pretty big change for you and Grant. We also don’t really have to define it if you don’t want to—but, at the very least, we’d love it if you were around more often.”

“I can’t believe you won the right to ask him,” Mercedes grumbles from behind Darryl, and he lets out a surprised laugh.

“You guys bet on that?”

“It also comes with first kiss rights,” Henry clarifies, and he immediately looks embarrassed that he said so.

“Well,” Darryl drawls the syllable out, “how can I deny first kiss rights, then?”

“Is that a yes?” Mercedes asks, crawling on her knees until they’re right against his back.

“Yes, I’d definitely like to, uh, date you. Both. I would...prefer to keep it on the quiet side for a while, I don’t know what Grant’s reaction is going to be to his ol’ dad suddenly dating again, let alone, you know, all of this? But...I want to learn. And I want you to teach me, if that’s okay with you. I’m a little clueless.”

“Oh Darryl,” Henry sighs, cupping one of Darryl’s cheeks and swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, “we would love that.”

Mercedes makes an incomprehensible noise and slings an arm over Darryl’s shoulder, pressing a kiss behind his ear that makes him shiver. “Kiss him! Or I’m stealing your rights!”

Henry laughs as they exchange a look. Darryl realizes he hasn’t been this nervous to kiss someone since middle school, when Carol approached him with the idea (because adults did it, and they should too, because they would be adults eventually). He likes to  _ think _ he’s gotten better at kissing since then, but as Henry watches him with this look of pure, unbridled, drunken excitement, well, he can’t help but feel like he hasn’t improved at all.

When Henry does kiss him, it’s gentle. Hesitant, even. He can feel Henry’s fingers flex against his cheek and something about that, the  _ action  _ of it urges Darryl closer, if only for just a moment before Henry’s pulling back and smiling.

“It’s ah, it’s been a while, sorry if I’m bad,” Darryl murmurs, and Mercedes slaps at his shoulder.

“It wasn’t,” Henry chuckles, and Darryl flushes a bit under the attention.

“I don’t know, I feel like I’m going to have to find out for myself,” Mercedes sing-songs from behind Darryl, and Henry pats his cheek with a grin.

“She’s much more forward than I am.”

As Mercedes stands up and shoves Henry out of the way to get to Darryl, Darryl’s about to comment something super witty and charming. He is, really, it’s on the tip of his tongue. But Mercedes grabs both sides of his face and kisses him slowly, using her leverage to her advantage. Darryl decides that he’s going to have to do more research on how the two of them differ in how they kiss. It’s incredibly important. Many trials.

She pulls back with a smile, and looks over at Henry. Darryl’s face burns as he stares at her. “Not too shabby, you were right.”

“I think you broke him.” Henry nods his head back toward Darryl, and Darryl’s too slow to tear his eyes away, because Mercedes catches him and chuckles fondly.

She leans down to peck his lips again, before plopping herself down on the couch next to him (or, really, practically on top of him). With a smooth motion, she yanks his arm up and wraps it around herself. “If I come on too strong, please let me know.”

Although it catches him off-guard, he adjusts his arm to get himself more comfortable in lieu of a response. Mercedes squirms to lean herself fully against him, and he hopes that she can’t tell how fast his heart is racing.

While they continue watching terrible TV, Darryl lets his mind wander. He realizes, some time when the duo of women on the screen scream something about the eggplant emoji, that he hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Over him, Henry and Mercedes are playing the game, both of them tucked into his sides. There’s a sense of calm that their idle conversation brings with it, something that Darryl could honestly say he hasn’t felt since...before Grant, probably.

Properly, though. Of course he’s been calm, but right then, there’s nothing pressing. Grant is happily spending the night at his friend’s house. He doesn’t have to be anywhere until tomorrow. There is no obligation for him to talk, or to argue about why he’s lazing around on the couch, or prove anything to anyone. He can sit here, half-listen to these people who he adores debate about the logistics of emoji-based conversation, and relax.

Sure, he’ll have to think about the future of this relationship eventually. Is he going to have to come out to his son before he admits he’s dating the Oaks? What would he even come out as? What are their boys going to think about the whole thing? Does he refer to them as his partners? But that’s for the future—right now, he wants to enjoy the giddiness that a new relationship entails, because frankly, he hasn’t experienced it in quite some time. And he might be addicted to it.

“Oh, dangit,” Henry mumbles, and when Darryl looks at him, he’s checking his watch. “You can’t go home like this. You can stay here if you’d like.”

“My oh my, Henry,” Mercedes chuckles, “that’s mighty forward of you.”

“No! No, I mean I don’t want him driving half-drunk and at a quarter to midnight no less.”

Darryl laughs, “No, I get it, I agree. I can take a couch or something, no problem.”

Mercedes gasps like she’s been burned. “We  _ just _ started dating, Darryl, and there’s no way we’re letting you sleep on the couch. You can sleep with us.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing if we want you there,” Henry gently points out, and Darryl’s stomach swoops pleasantly.

“Okay. Okay, yeah.”

Darryl stands in the doorway of the Oak-Garcia bedroom, fidgeting with his fingers as he watches the two of them go through the beginnings of their routine. Henry sleeps on the left, Mercedes on the right. They plug in their phones, chat about nothing as they change into pajamas. Darryl tries to watch the ground as they change, and Mercedes, who is halfway to undressed, catches him doing this and crosses the room to grab his hand with a smile.

“C’mon, I can try to find you some clothes if that makes you more comfortable.”

Darryl’s not used to his needs being catered to. Not to say that he’s been abandoned or something, no—but if he really thinks about it, much of his life has been following another person’s rules. For a while, it was his father’s. Study this, wear that, typical (or, he assumed typical) fatherly stuff. His mother did the same kind of thing, but she was less than vocal about her opinions. Then it was Carol. Go to this college, act this way, have a kid at this time, raise him this specific way, go to the gym. It was less about him, more about the impact he had on those around him. Which was fine! Efficient, even. 

“I um, have an undershirt on that’ll work just fine,” he says, and Mercedes gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

It takes him a few more moments to muster up the courage to start unbuttoning his shirt, and before he can get past one of the top buttons, Henry is in front of him. He raises an eyebrow in silent question, and Darryl watches his face as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt. He feels almost selfish, for letting him do this. Henry could get into bed, finish getting undressed, be doing a million other things. But instead he's in front of him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders with a gentleness that makes Darryl's heart skip a beat.

Henry plants a kiss on his forehead, and once Darryl shrugs the shirt off, takes it to the foot of the bed to drape it over. He gets his pants off with minimal stumbling and places them in the same spot, socks balled up on the floor (because, come on, he's not an animal), and he climbs into the bed on Henry's side to slide his way into the middle.

Before he can start thinking about taking up too much space, Mercedes, who had been in the bathroom brushing her teeth, climbs into the bed and props her chin up on his chest with a toothy grin.

"You're very warm."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, it's good. I'm always freezing."

"Watch out for tiny, cold feet. She's a menace," Henry adds as he settles in on the other side, and Mercedes reaches over Darryl to slap him.

"Only to him. You're new, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Well, I'm glad I could help then," Darryl says.

Mercedes pecks a kiss onto Darryl's chest before rolling over to shut off her bedside lamp. When she comes back, she settles on her stomach, head facing Darryl, and smiles at him.

"Good night you two."

The two of them echo the sentiment, and Darryl watches their ceiling for a while. He feels Mercedes' hand go slack in his, and Henry shifts quite a bit before he settles with his back pressed up against Darryl's arm. Although he doesn't generally sleep on his back, he's too scared to move. He'll shift in his sleep, probably, he doesn't want to disturb them now. As he eventually falls asleep, it's to the feeling of Mercedes' even, slow breaths puffing against his shoulder, and the passing thought that this would be, for the first time in a long time, an exciting adjustment to make.

When Darryl wakes up, there's an arm around his waist, and Mercedes is looking at him with a small smile. Secret, even—like she wasn't expecting him to wake up, a smile reserved for her only. He doesn't have the energy to react, brain and body too sleep-addled to do much of anything except clock Henry snoring softly behind him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Mercedes whispers, and Darryl shakes his head minutely.

"'s alright. You okay?"

The arm around his waist tenses, making him register the warm palm against his stomach and under his shirt. He shifts his hips absently, breath catching in his throat a little as he feels the half-hardness of his dick against Mercedes' thigh. She chuckles softly, and it slithers down Darryl's spine.

"I feel like I should be asking  _ you  _ that question."

The apology dies in his throat as Mercedes kisses him, slowly, like they have all the time in the world to explore this. Darryl goes willingly, following her lead as she takes, swallowing a moan as she presses her thigh forward to test the waters.

She attempts to pull back but Darryl cranes his neck to follow her lips, a surprised giggle bubbling up and making him smile into it. The lazy volley of kisses continues for a long while, until Henry snorts particularly loudly. They devolve into quiet laughter, the two of them close enough to brush noses with each little breath.

"My goodness, Darryl," Mercedes murmurs, bringing a hand up to swipe a thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip, making him shiver. "If I knew any better, I'd say you're trying to seduce me."

"Please tell me it's working." Darryl's surprised at how rough his voice sounds, and something mischievous flickers in Mercedes' eyes.

"You're doing a pretty great job."

A soft gasp gets smothered by another kiss, and Mercedes shuffles and adjusts a little to cup the front of his boxers.

"Think you can keep quiet for me, honey?"

Darryl nods, and bites his lip as Mercedes' hand slides into his underwear and her fingers curl around his dick. The friction is a little much, and she must notice, because she pulls her hand back and licks a stripe up the middle of her palm, glaring at Darryl when he muffles a laugh.

"Shut it," she grumbles, but she's smiling, and she tilts her head back up to watch as Darryl's face twists into pleasure at the slow glide of her hand.

From behind him, Henry shifts around in his sleep, and Mercedes takes this as a  _ challenge _ , moves her hand faster around Darryl's dick, makes him curse under his breath and try his hardest to stay stock-still. Henry rolls over, and his hand disappears from Darryl's waist.

"How convenient," she hums, dragging a thumb over the head of his dick, and Darryl fucks into the circle of her fist with a gasp.

After a bit, Mercedes rests her forehead on Darryl's shoulder, the silence filled with soft, half-muffled gasps from Darryl that she wants to bask in.

" _ Shit _ , can I—" Darryl hisses, and Mercedes presses a kiss onto a sleep-warm shoulder.

"Can you what, hon?"

Darryl's face burns, the words stuck in the back of his throat, but he grips Mercedes' hip with a strong hand. "I'm gonna come."

Mercedes doesn't slow her hand and drops her forehead back against Darryl's shoulder, watching as his hips twitch forward in time. She wonders, briefly, how he would be if they  _ could _ be loud, how a proper first time with all three of them would feel. Darryl comes with a muffled grunt, and Mercedes mumbles absent praises through it.

Above her, Darryl sleepily laughs, making her look up at him. "What?"

"Just, the whole thing," he chuckles, and Mercedes suddenly realises that her hand is covered in cum, inside Darryl's boxers, next to her sleeping husband. She can't help but laugh too, sliding her hand out and raising it to avoid making more of a mess.

"This is gonna be gross for you," she giggles, and squirms to flip over and reach for the tissues on her bedside table. Darryl's already half-asleep by the time she cleans herself up, and she'll be  _ damned _ if she's letting him fall asleep before taking care of her.

Luckily, though, Darryl has the same idea. "Can I, um. Can I touch you?"

Mercedes hums, feigning thoughtfulness. "How ever do you mean?"

Darryl drags her close by the hip, making her gasp and blush a little. Damn, she needs to explore being strongarmed a little more. Y'know, when it's not four in the morning. This time, Darryl leads the kiss, making Mercedes hum a soft groan. Absently, she clocks the hesitation as something to work on. Darryl's hand slides from her waist and into the front of her underwear, and the two of them moan quietly together.

"Fuck, Darr," she whispers against his lips, which only encourages him on.

Now, it may have been a long time since Darryl saw any action, but he doesn't consider himself  _ absolutely  _ clueless in this department. He rubs gentle circles into her clit, smirking a little as she ruts her hips forward into it.

"Oh, that's it,  _ fuck,"  _ she continues, the words swallowed by Darryl and egging him on. He thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he never wants to stop making Mercedes make these noises.

Mercedes is quick to come, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep from waking Henry up. She pants softly and tips her head against Darryl's—as she drifts back to sleep slowly, she thinks about how if giving Darryl a handjob riled her up this much, there's no telling what proper sex would do to her.

"He's going to pissed I got to you first," she mumbles instead, and Darryl hums a laugh.

"I usually don't sleep with people on the first date."

"Well, consider me honored."

Mercedes falls asleep first, and Darryl takes the time to assess what the  _ hell _ just happened. Not only did he just have quiet, sleepy sex with Mercedes, but it was on the first date. And Mercedes called him honey. And Henry stayed asleep the whole time. He smiles to himself, and gives him a mental pat on the back. 

When Darryl wakes up again, he’s got his face tucked into Henry’s side. As he shifts, Henry silently raises the arm that was resting behind his neck to let Darryl rest his head on his chest properly. He squints a little to try and look at the book Henry is reading, ultimately giving up and resting his eyes again. He’s not sure how much time passes until Henry stretches to put the book down and threads a hand through the back of Darryl’s hair.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Darryl grunts in response, and Henry’s light chuckle makes his heart flutter.

“Mercedes is making breakfast for us, so we should head down soon.”

Henry scratches his scalp lightly, and Darryl tips his head into it. “Sorry if I trapped you here.”

“It’s no problem at all. We have to work on you apologizing less,” Henry says, the implied promise of the future making Darryl smile.

Reluctantly, Darryl sits up and stretches his arms over his head, groaning in his throat. Behind him, Henry breathes out a laugh.

"Mighty Dad grunt you've got there."

Darryl rolls his eyes and presses his hands into the small of his back, straightening up and listening to the satisfying series of cracks.

"Grant's told me the same thing."

Speaking of. It takes a moment for him to remember where his belongings are, and he less-than-gracefully shuffles to the end of the bed to rummage through his pants to find his phone. Grant had texted him when they were "heading to sleep", but Darryl knew better than to take that as literal. Odds were that the Close household and its inhabitants were still sleeping at 9:30 in the morning. He sends off a quick text to ask what time he wants to be picked up, and in the time that takes him, Henry has somehow vanished into the bathroom.

"Hey, if you need to shower or anything let me know," he says as Darryl slides his phone away, and when he looks up, Henry flashes him a warm smile.

He's standing in the doorway to the bathroom, towel halfheartedly slung around his waist, and Darryl has to drag his mind through and out of the gutter before he realizes Henry is waiting for a response from him.

"Oh-oh, no, I'm alright, I'll probably head out after breakfast. Make myself decent before I pick Grant up from Glenn's."

"Okie dokie artichokie." Henry then winks at Darryl, and goes into the bathroom.

As the door closes and the shower starts, Darryl watches where Henry used to be, and considers what, exactly, it says about himself if he is wildly attracted to a man who says shit like that unironically.

* * *

Breakfast with the Oak-Garcias involves Darryl coming to terms with the fact that vegan breakfasts aren't as terrible as they're made out to be. Darryl's been experimenting with vegetarian options for a while, which hasn't been too difficult—Grant's only been a vegetarian for a few months now, and he tries to be accomodating. But he only knows how to cook so much. It helps that Mercedes is an insane cook, and when he asks her to help him learn how to make more vegetarian meals outside of what he already knows, she lights up.

He's explaining this to Glenn as they sit on the old couch in the Close living room, the two of them waiting for Grant to gather his stuff to leave. Both of them know that, realistically, Nick and Grant are going to play video games until Darryl goes and asks Grant to leave himself. But Darryl needs to talk about his date, so Grant has a little time.

"Dude, I'm thrilled for you," Glenn says when Darryl finally finishes talking, "slept over the first night like a  _ baller. _ You think you're gonna tell Grant?"

Darryl sighs and rubs a hand over his beard. "I mean, I haven't dated anyone since Carol. Let alone confronted my feelings about dating a man. Or a married couple. It's a lot to spring on the kid if I haven't even figured it out myself. He actually confronted  _ me  _ about my crush on them."

"No way."

"Seriously! The kid's too smart for his own good."

"I would still sit him down and talk him through it, when you're ready. I keep Nick updated on all the hot moms I hang out with."

Darryl stares at Glenn, hoping for a hint that he's kidding, and isn't surprised when he doesn't find it. "O...kay. I'll keep it in mind."

"And don't be surprised if he figures it out. Once, Nick asked one of his friend's moms if we hooked up in the middle of parent-teacher conferences because I was avoiding her."

"Right."

Darryl slaps his hands on his knees and stands up. "I should grab Grant and head out. Thanks for the advice, I think."

"No sweat!" Glenn gets up to follow Darryl down the hall, and grabs his arm suddenly. "You never told me, did you bone down?"

Darryl flushes and spins around to glare at Glenn, mortified at the proximity to Nick's bedroom. Glenn just grins.

"Got it."

Once Darryl collects Grant and drives home (after some forced small talk about Grant's night), he falls into the same boring routine. Does the laundry, fixes Grant lunch, finds something to watch on TV as he waits for the wash to be done. His phone buzzes next to him, and he just assumes as it's Ron texting him some bullshit about business that has become a regular occurrence since he found out that Darryl stays at home.

Instead, it's a new group chat with Mercedes and Henry, the first message from Mercedes.

_ just broke the news to him _

Followed by, from Henry:

_ I'm not surprised, just disappointed. _

Darryl laughs and sends back a frowny face. Grant, who is sitting at the other end of the couch with his phone in his hand, is staring at him like he has four heads.

"What's so funny?"

"Henry made a joke. Can't a guy laugh at his phone?"

"Not this specific guy."

Darryl rolls his eyes, and sets his phone down to turn back to the TV. Grant squints at him, watches as he picks up his phone again and his expression remains neutral.

"Not a funny joke this time?"

Darryl clears his throat. "What? No, not funny. Don't you have something to do other than watch me?"

Grant shrugs and turns back to his phone. "You're being weird."

" _ You're  _ being weird," Darryl echoes.

He stares, silently, at the text from Mercedes.

_ we've got plenty of time to change that ;) _

Man. He's almost positive that when his therapist suggested he get back into dating, this isn't what she meant.

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw, baby! that's all i have to say!


End file.
